Turning point
by Lula2
Summary: Cameron figures something out. HouseCamYet another post season 3 finale story. Read and review!


Turning Point

Just as I predicted, House had continued his life as usual. Well, maybe not as usual. According to Wilson, it had taken kidnapping, ransom demands and truly incisive emotional manipulation on Cuddy's part to even get House to consider interviewing a team. But all in all, his life went on in pretty much the same way it always had, as House sexually harassed female staff members, offended patients and their families, hid from clinic hours in his office and solved a medical conundrum. To the casual observer, House went on being House, and the lack of a team merely meant that he needed to limp beyond the confines of his office to find targets for his snarky comments.

I am not, nor have I ever been, a casual observer when it comes to Gregory House. After my return to PPTH, I spent a couple of days observing House before he found out I was back. His days seemed ordinary, if anything related to him could be construed as ordinary. He spent most of his day in his office, hatching new and intricate ways to injure, insult and potentially maim those under his immediate command. The things he asked of those poor prospective team members… Never had he instigated so much concentrated terror on so many victims as he did those days, gleefully devising the most shameful of tasks for his rapidly dwindling flock of would-be ducklings.

I briefly wondered whether I would have made his team if I had had to go through such an ordeal. I quickly came to the conclusion that I would have lasted one day and three hours. Tops. Now, after three years with him, I still couldn't tell who was going to make it, and who didn't have a chance in hell. He seemed to vacillate between wanting people who shared the strengths of his recently disbanded team, and people who would not remind him in any way of our own particular personalities. I was torn between hoping he would assemble a team soon and get back to saving people's lives, and hoping that he would be unable to replace us.

One day, not long after I had returned, he saw me walking past the elevator as it opened on my floor. I would have smiled, but his expression, or lack thereof, checked me. Before I had a chance to recover, the elevator doors began to close, and just before they did, I caught a glimpse of his half-raised hand. Part of me expected him to come find me, but weeks passed and he never did. I heard that he had hired an immunologist for his team, and that he was a tall man from India. Wilson murmured in a foreboding tone that apparently Dr. Singh was under strict orders not to consult with me for any reason under pain of termination. So I never came into contact with the only other immunology specialist in PPTH apart from the occasional sidelong glance he shot me in elevators or the cafeteria. I don't believe I ever heard his voice.

Since Chase led his own diagnostics team, Foreman and I were called in from time to time to consult with him, and in a small way, we kept up our habit of rapid-fire differentials whenever we could. Chase eventually took on a larger case-load than House, and our rate of success, while lower than House's, was still enough to earn Chase a solid reputation. If sometimes Chase went to House for consults, I was never involved. I imagine it was as much Chase's choice as it was House's. I did not give it much thought.

That is, until I walked by O'Neal's and saw Foreman and Chase sharing a couple of drinks with House and two of his new team members. Had I stopped to think about it, I would not have walked in, but the night was cold, my car had refused to start and the idea of stopping in and warming up held a definite appeal. Careful not to return House's intense gaze, I moved towards an empty stool next to Chase, when I found myself face to face with what can only be described as my doppelganger.

It wasn't just that she looked like me, with her small frame, high cheekbones and pale complexion. Or that her eyes were just as green as mine. It wasn't just the way she was dressed, or the way she pulled her hair back in an effort to downplay how pretty she was. She gave off an aura of kindness and general naiveté that I no longer recognized when I looked at myself in the mirror, but which I know I used to have. She was who I had been three years ago. I smiled at this ghost of Cameron past; this girl who still, obviously cared. As Foreman introduced us, I wondered whether she would care for a certain someone the way I had allowed myself to do.

"Weird," Chase muttered under his breath. I saw that he had ordered a drink for me, and I slid into the stool with as much grace as I could manage.

"Tell me I was never that naïve-looking."

"I suppose I could lie to you, but-" I swatted at his arm and the rest of his words dissolved into easy laughter. Over his shoulder I felt House's eyes on me, but turned instead to my neat Scotch.

"Isn't that a grown up drink, Cam?"

"Isn't that the kind of comment House would make, Foreman?" I felt giddy and relaxed, more myself than I had in a long time, while also distant, as if watching myself performing on a faraway stage. I felt every inch of my skin. I felt as if my mind was completely detached from my body even as I registered its every sensory experience. I thought I must be high. And all because he was watching me, assessing my every word. Oddly, it didn't make me nervous. I was a horse at the starting line, and I sensed the race was about to begin.

I had always been the one to approach him. I assumed it would be the same this time around, but I judged that conversation could wait until I had finished my Scotch. And I was in no hurry to finish my 18-year old single malt.

Characteristically, House's first salvo was a rude one. "Doctor Cameron, come and sit by me. Unless you're afraid your newly acquired, carefully constructed Ice Queen veneer might crumble against my superior powers pf perception."

"I'm sorry, are you taking to me, or to my doppelganger?"

"If you're referring to Cameron 2.0, I'll have you know she cares just as much as you do, makes even better coffee and she is Windows compatible." With that, he banged on the stool of Doctor Singh. "Get off. The pretty girl gets to sit next to me." And turning to me with his trademark smirk, "come on. You know you want to."

Which, God help me, I did. After sharing a speaking glance with Chase, I grabbed my drink and stood by House. "Sit," he said. "It'll make you look taller."

"I prefer the capacity for a fast getaway."

After a brief flicker of surprise, his eyes locked into mine. "Yes, that would seem to be your specialty."

Blood thrummed in my ears. Inconceivable, but I just had, perhaps for the first time, hurt House. Confronted with such a concept, a couple of months ago I would have perhaps lost my emotional footing and blubbered an apology, mumbled some useless, comforting words. This time, I could only hold his gaze.

House is a good poker player. He has no tells, and when he chooses to occlude his thoughts from you, there is no information to be gleaned from his eyes or expression. He is the proverbial wall. This time, whatever his thoughts may have been, it was something else that seemed to be seeping through, something that had nothing to do with conscious thought. I was sensing his emotions. I could feel waves of sensation issuing from him, crashing against me, each bringing new knowledge. I sensed his surprise at my remark, his hurt, his desire to distance himself from me, his coldness, but threading through it all, I sensed his thirst for me.

I spoke without thinking. "It's like being anesthetized. When you are not around."

"That sounds perfect."

"Yes. But always the same. It gets dull."

Something came back into his eyes. "Maybe you and the wombat should invest in sex toys. Have you ever thought of getting a whip?"

"It came with my leather outfit." I said it absent-mindedly, just a silly punchline to a sophomoric joke. Still, it gave House pause.

"Really?"

"Chase is going to kill me if he finds out I told."

"Oh my God, really?"

"No, not really." He laughed it off, but I had seen enough. I understood that House had always been there for the taking. My mind flashed back to our kiss. He had been utterly unable to move, and then, he had kissed me back. If I wanted him, all I had to do was take him. And he would never say no to me.

"Besides," I said, tossing him a gift that he didn't really deserve, "Chase and I are not together anymore."

"Moved on to Foreman yet?" He spoke casually, as if he didn't care, as if it was beneath his notice.

"No. But I am currently exploring my options."

"As long as you keep away from Wilson. He's mine."

"I don't think my so-called Ice Queen veneer would attract him much. He liked me more when I was sweet and cuddly. Though maybe he'd like me most if I…" I kept the words vague, but I let myself indulge in a risqué vision involving House and me on top of the bar. I let my tantalizing thoughts show through my expression before continuing. "…Oh yes. I think he'd like that."

"If you're thinking about a threesome with Cuddy, then I fully support your initiative. In fact, I would like to sponsor it in any way I can."

"Well, thanks for that idea. If you will excuse me."

"Typical, just when the conversation gets interesting…"

I headed to the bathroom. I had not meant to engage House in a sexually charged conversation. Nothing of the kind had happened before, and I was feeling a bit thrown. I certainly did not want him to think of me in a dominatrix outfit, whipping Wilson or making out with Cuddy. But the intensity in his eyes made me play along, and I was enjoying myself.

I opened the door, only to find House towering over me. And there, in the narrow hallway leading to the kitchen and storage room, Gregory House leaned close as if to kiss me. Instead, he said "I like this veneer you've got going." And before he could brush past me and walk away, I did the only possible thing. I pushed him against the wall with all the force I had. I grabbed the neck of his shirt and I pulled it down until his face was by mine. I kissed him ardently enough to dispel any ideas bout ice queens and veneers. I felt him start to kiss back, so I stopped. I pushed him away again and studied his face. As soon as his mind began to clear, I snaked my hand behind his neck and once more drew him to me. We renewed our kissing with particular urgency, his tongue tracing my lips before slipping into my mouth. I pulled away and slapped him. A solid, stinging slap for his troubles. He began to protest, but before he could, my lips were on his, my tongue reaching inside to taste his, the taste of Scotch on my breath mingling with his. With my hands and mouth, I made the situation perfectly clear: this was my show, my initiative, and he was to obey with enthusiasm and fervor. And he did. He turned out to be a very good boy.

Afterwards, there was much talk about how the big bad doctor had snatched the sweet ingénue. For all effects and purposes, House, of course, didn't change. He continued his crusade of callousness and misanthropy, cutting a swath across clinic and conference room alike. Every once in a while, especially if his leg hurt badly, he would rail at me for throwing myself away on an old cripple, for suggesting that something might be lupus or for underestimating the genius of General Hospital. The nurses in particular looked askance at our relationship, and many people pitied me, worried over me or judged me to be the tragic victim of a schoolgirl crush gone horribly, horribly wrong. Only Wilson ever suspected that Gregory lived quite satisfactorily under my benevolent thumb.


End file.
